Shall We Not?

I don’t really know how to start this piece without just jumping in. I don’t like personal contact (that’s an understatement, I hate it). I’m not cold or anything, it’s just that if I don’t know you I probably don’t want you to touch me (Tom Hardy is exempt from this rule). I feel like when I tell people this they treat me like I am some sort of social pariah. You don’t have to pity me because I just met you and I don’t want to cuddle you, I don’t have a problem. My emotional being is intact, I promise you!

I should probably clear it up that I am not that bothered if I am in a social situation and someone wants to hug me as a form of greeting, that is fine. If I know you already I won’t think twice and if I don’t I’ll probably just assume you are drunk…my genuine thought process. However, I take issue with touchy feely-ness when I am supposed to be in a professional environment or if it is completely unsolicited. I’ll give you an example, I was at a networking event not so long ago and after having a very long (LONG) conversation with a man who did not work in a field I was remotely interested in, which was by the by because all he talked about was how expensive his suit was and how he had just moved into a new flat in London, he decided the correct way to say “nice to meet you” was to put his hand on the small of my back and wink at me. I don’t want to be gross but it still makes me want to vomit in my mouth! Why? Just why? I had no opinion of him up until that point- he was a bit smug but obviously very good at his job and was doing well for himself. He ruined it!

Realistically, there is no professional situation where putting your hand on someone’s shoulders, back, leg (basically anywhere but their hand) is necessary. I know that people do it unconsciously and don’t mean to come across as an overfriendly creep but can you just not. I am aware of how cold I sound but I have never heard someone say “Oh yeah I love Paul, he always rests his hand just above my arse…what a nice guy!” What I find weirder than people thinking it is okay to touch random parts of my body when they don’t know me is that when I point out they are touching me (my favourite way to combat these situations) they tend to get really awkward. It’s like they didn’t realise I would notice their hand creeping on to my shoulder so when I put the focus of the conversation on it they are shocked that it is there. I figured the best time to do this is when people grab your arse in clubs. It turns out if you turn around and directly state “you just grabbed my arse”, the perpetrator often adopts a gormless expression and looks at their hand like it no longer belongs to them.

However, it isn’t just my physical existence that is being encroached upon (nightmare). It turns out my inboxes on social media are under siege too. If someone doesn’t indicate that they want you to direct message them and you don’t know each other, just don’t do it! You aren’t invited into that space; it is for their friends, it is where they share funny cat videos and memes that are just too real to their friendship. At the end of the day, I am more likely to flush my phone down the toilet than give my number to a man who has sent me an irrelevant and unsolicited message via LinkedIn at 11 o’clock at night. I like to think of such messages as the internet’s answer to putting your hand on an acquaintances knee- it will always come across far too forward and undoubtedly creepy. The only positives that come from such things is that we can rest assured that messages can be screenshotted and provide endless entertainment on group chats (a perk you don’t get with face to face creeping).

Anyway, now I have got all that off my chest, please don’t think of me as some sort of ice queen (although, let’s be honest with the level of sass that comes with that it could only be a compliment) and I will go back to avoiding physical contact where possible.

Glow like Gwyneth

I am in Waterstones, in the cookery section. Why I am here, when I think about it logically, I do not know. Whether it is because I like the idea of people thinking I will make these foods, the pretty pictures or just the fact that I have really good intentions it is beyond me. It doesn’t help that as the new academic year, my last being a student, looms the usual I-will-loose-10-pounds-and-become-a-domestic-goddess plans have set in. For September has always been my time for New Year’s resolutions. Forget ‘new year, new me’ on January first. How am I supposed to change when I usually enter the New Year horribly hungover in bed with Netflix and crisps? No, September always seems like a much better time for, what is essentially, self-improvement bullshit. So, as any good student knows, I have decided that the best way to learn how to become basically a first class human being is to buy lots of books, put them all on my shelves so they look pretty for Instagram and then not read any of them.

So, where better to start with my endeavours that the queen of clean living herself- Gwyneth Paltrow. Contrary to popular belief I like Gwyneth- I probably like her a little bit too much. I’m just not sue she is real- she’s too glowy and perfect. I like her in the same way that everyone would like being invited over to one kids house to play in school because they had the cool mum who made the best cakes at school fairs and arrived at sports practice with the shiniest hair and the nicest smelling perfume. She’s chic and unattainable and I do believe it is for this reason that I have become obsessed with all things Paltrow. I picked up her book initially because I liked her jumper she was wearing on the cover and the candle in the foreground would look perfect on my windowsill. Obviously it was from www.to-expensive-for-you-peasant.com (this will be my next website). As a poor (POOR!!) student, Paltrow’s website Goop is not a friendly place for me. One of her moisturisers alone costs more than my weekly food shop- but hey I’ll have that Gwyneth glow. So whilst her lotions and potions would lead to bankruptcy and the idea of a vagina facial quite simply terrifies me, her cookbooks may actually be the only bit of her lifestyle I can get to grips with. And after writing four very successful books, she must be doing something right. ‘It’s all easy’ promised a plethora of tasty treats that would help you ditch the burger and find your inner glow (and I really like burgers).

Rather than opting for Paltrows’ notorious $200 breakfast smoothie (I mean it’s not that expensive but I am still balling on a budget) I decided to try her Thai-style crab cakes. Now I am not a culinary genius but I can feed myself. The recipe suggested that the meal would be fit for four people and I figured this could be a treat meal for myself (as crab isn’t exactly student dining). The thing was, the recipe was relatively quick and easy. I didn’t struggle too much and all the ingredients smelt and looked amazing. Don’t get me wrong, if I had any sort of healthy income I would eat like this all the time (once a week when I could be bothered.)

It was also tasty and I mean REALLY tasty. So tasty in fact I could have eaten the meal three times over, not that I could have afforded it on my student loan. After putting in some toast and placing the book back in its rightful place I resigned myself that Gwyneth may always be the hot yoga mum that is borderline super human. I will adopt her promotions of cute knit jumpers and scented candles but that may be it. I would like to add that I am typing this whilst looking at Hemsley and Hemsleys Instagram…call me mad but a girl has to have goals.